


The shark has pretty teeth

by diner_drama



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Berlin, But also Erik you Slut, Charles You Slut, M/M, Queer cabaret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/diner_drama
Summary: The roaring twenties are in full swing this summer in Berlin, and Erik Lehnsherr is on the hunt. Before he can land his prey, however, he has to deal with the tweed-suited professor sitting in the corner of his favourite cabaret, ruining the ambience.For Harlequin Hoopla February 7th "Presents" prompt: set in 1920s.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	The shark has pretty teeth

The roaring twenties are in full swing this summer in Berlin, and Erik Lehnsherr is on the hunt. 

The cabaret bar is bustling, crowded and buzzing, and he stalks through the throng, his laser focus scanning through the faces. 

"Bier, bitte," he says to the bartender, leaning against the sticky wooden counter. The singer on stage warbles a sultry ballad, the eye-catching sparkle of his gown sending reflections around the room from the bright lights, the short fringe of his skirt riding up to show a flash of beautiful, muscled thigh. Erik eyes him with interest, making a note for later.

A lovely young man at a nearby table catches his eye, watching him from below immaculately decorated eyelids. Erik raises his drink and takes a sip, graces his suitor with a predatory grin, all teeth, then continues his assessment of the room. A ruggedly handsome gentleman in a sharp suit that barely contains the width of his shoulders winks at him from the other end of the bar. Excellent portents for a very productive evening.

His eyes alight on a small table tucked into a corner and his good mood immediately evaporates. He strides over and bangs his fist on the table, startling the tweed-clad infiltrator and nearly making him drop his pencil.

"I hope you're enjoying your trip to the zoo," he hisses, leaning close and flexing his muscles, hands flat on the table. "If you've quite finished categorising the wildlife, I suggest you _fuck off_ to wherever it is heterosexuals go in the evenings. Schöneberg does not welcome your kind."

"I beg your pardon?"

He grabs the man's notebook from his hands and barks an incredulous laugh as he reads the title. "Human genetic mutation. Is that the idea? Study us in order to better eliminate our _perversions_ through eugenics?"

"No, that's really not-"

Erik tears the notebook in two. "If you don't leave of your own accord," he snarls, "believe me that I can find a number of _fairies_ who would be happy to escort you."

"Look," sighs the other man, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can I buy you a drink? Because you are being very rude, but I'd still quite like to fuck you." 

He motions to a nearby waiter, who insinuates himself alongside and pecks the man on the cheek.

"Charles," he purrs in a warm German accent, running a painted nail along his arm. "What can I get for you?"

"Hello again, love. A scotch, please, and whatever my new friend here is having."

Erik sits down warily at the table. "The same," he says flatly. When the waiter departs, he turns to Charles, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth. "Explain."

Charles is frowning and trying to piece back together the torn halves of his notes. "Well, just to put your mind at rest I will reassure you that I am, in fact, a homosexual. Rather an enthusiastic one, in fact."

"Amazing," says Erik drily. "And your _research_?" He spits the word as though it is dirtying his mouth.

"Did you know that homosexual subcultures are found almost universally around the world? The similarities are incredibly striking." The waiter reappears and Charles toasts him politely before draining half of his drink in one mouthful.

"What does that have to do with genetics?" asks Erik, taking a thoughtful sip.

"To me that would indicate that, if it's a genetic trait, it is either a particularly ancient one, that pre-dates the human diaspora from Africa, or it has evolved independently more than once."

"Must you investigate this? Surely this only gives our enemies the means to more efficiently exterminate us all."

"It also gives our allies more opportunity to understand us, and it gives us more opportunity to understand ourselves."

"Your optimism is charming," murmurs Erik.

"The day will come, my friend, when human love wins victory over human hatred and ignorance."

"Now you're beginning to sound like Hirschfeld."

"Oh, you know Magnus? I'm here to visit him, as a matter of fact. I think his work on reducing suicide rates in the queer community is vital."

"Hmph," grumbles Erik, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm beginning to warm to you."

"Excellent," beams Charles, teeth biting into his plush red lip, which is accented perhaps with a touch of lipstick. "I'm not strictly here for research purposes."

"No?" says Erik, leaning backwards in his seat and regarding Charles with an appraising stare.

"It's spectacular, isn't it?" he says, gesturing at the room at large. "True selves on glorious display."

"Schöneberg is probably the safest place in the world for our kind," Erik agrees. "It's almost painful to venture to other parts of the city, to see these beautiful creatures covering themselves up."

"One day I can see beautiful queer meeting places in every city, great parades through the streets... marriage, even."

"They will never accept us, Charles. They fear what they do not understand."

" _You're_ beginning to sound like Erik Lehnsherr."

Erik smirks. "Imagine that."

"You're not."

"For my sins."

"I found your most recent article in _Der Eigene_ fascinating," says Charles earnestly, leaning forwards on his elbows. "The concept of a separate homosexual state isn't something I agree with at all, but your take on it was very refreshing. I was very nearly convinced."

"I've been told I can be very persuasive."

"Much in the same way that a battering ram can be persuasive."

Erik throws his head back in laughter. Charles leans forwards further and rests his hand on top of Erik's, thumb rubbing circles on his skin.

"Come back to my rooms," he entreats with a level of confidence that should be infuriating. 

"You're not going to experiment on me, are you?" says Erik, nonetheless draining the rest of his drink in preparation to leave.

"Oh no," smirks Charles. "I think you'll find that I know precisely what I'm doing."

Erik allows himself to be dragged through the familiar streets and up a flight of stairs to Charles' rented apartment, a small set of rooms inside a large and ornate Art Deco block of flats. He gets a brief glimpse of an open suitcase overflowing with books and a stack of cardigans before he is unceremoniously slammed against the wall and kissed to within an inch of his life. He closes his eyes and kisses back for all he is worth, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Charles' neck and draw him in closer. Charles' thigh is pressed between his spread legs, providing pressure just maddeningly short of what he desires.

Erik's hands scrabble around the waist of his trousers, eventually finding and unfastening his belt buckle and sliding a hand down the front of Charles' neatly-pressed slacks to cup the growing bulge in his shorts. Charles moans against his lips and thrust his hips, pushing into his hand. He slides his hands up either side of Erik's narrow waist, rucking up his skin-tight black turtleneck, before peeling it off altogether and throwing it onto the floor. He applies himself to Erik's pert little nipples, laving each one with his tongue before biting down lightly. Erik throws his head back and groans, his hands running through Charles' wild chestnut curls. The broad plane of Erik's chest occupies Charles for quite some time as he scratches blunt nails over the swell of his pecs and follows the trail of hair below his belly button to dip his hand below Erik's belt and press lightly on his hardening cock.

The heat of the summer and the effort of their exertions has coated them both with a sheen of sweat, which Erik takes great pleasure in licking from Charles' collarbones as he unbuttons his starched shirt and reveals mile after mile of pale flesh.

"I can't believe the amount of muscles you were hiding under that abomination of a jacket," murmurs Erik into the curve of Charles' neck, before biting down hard at the juncture between neck and shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with- ah!" breaks off Charles, hips bucking at the sensation. Erik sucks lightly, delighted to see bruises blooming where his lips have been. "Erik," sighs Charles, "I really have to fuck you very soon, or I think I may quite literally die."

"We couldn't have that," says Erik drily. "Bedroom?"

"This way."

They burst through the bedroom door and Erik pins Charles to the bed, straddling his lap and leaning down for more fierce, passionate kisses, hot and open-mouthed. Charles shoves Erik's trousers down past his hips and takes two firm handfuls of his ass, bringing their hips to grind together.

"Top or bottom?" gasps Erik between kisses.

"Either, both, flip a coin," says Charles, nosing over Erik's cheek to plant kisses along his jawline.

"Excellent," grins Erik, wild, reckless, and beautiful. "Both it is."

* * *

Eighty years later, in a beautiful country manor on the outskirts of Amsterdam, the wheels of Charles' chair squeak a little as Erik slowly pushes him down the aisle. Their students and friends crowd the seats either side of room, cheering on their gentle procession. As they reach the front of the room, Charles places his hand on Erik's face and draws him down to whisper in his ear.

"I told you so."

**Author's Note:**

> The history of gay subculture in 1920s Germany is absolutely fascinating, as is the work of Magnus Hirschfeld. I very much enjoyed falling down this particular wikipedia hole, and suggest that you do the same.
> 
> Title from the 1928 cabaret song "Mack the Knife" by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht.


End file.
